


Toothpaste Kisses

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anniversary, Breakfast, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: There’s something vaguely magical about waking up early in the morning.For my wonderful boyfriend.





	Toothpaste Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



> Titled after the song "Toothpaste Kisses" by The Maccabees.

There’s something vaguely magical about waking up early in the morning.

Maybe it’s seeing the sun rising over the trees, whiter than the golden hours of the late evening. Sitting by the window, feeling the world just exist before the hustle and bustle of human life takes over. It’s like the peace between arriving at a destination and alerting those expecting your arrival; the few moments where no one is expecting anything of you, of pure freedom from obligation.

Though, that’s not the reason I got early up this morning. After all, getting up means _leaving bed_ , and lying beside Karkat is better than the feeling of the coming morning – better than any other feeling, in all honesty. I live for waking up beside him, his arms thrown around me, his face relaxed as he sleeps. I usually wake up first, but I don’t mind. I let him wake up slow, running my fingers through his messy hair and pressing feather-light kisses on his cheeks and forehead. I love to watch his eyes slip open, watch the sleepy smile spread across his face as he looks at me.

When we first moved in together, he’d set two alarms – one to wake up, and one to get out of bed – because there’s nothing quite like lying in bed with the love of your life in the morning, and neither of us would ever leave bed without the loud, ringing prompt of an alarm.

Still, I’m always tempted to stay in bed forever – but of course, responsibilities call us both, and, finally, I can say with complete confidence that the next day we will wake up the same way, and I get to experience the light and warmth of his sunrise each morning.

The toaster pops, derailing my train of thought. I glance over, rubbing at one of my eyes. They are golden-brown on both sides, _finally_ , after four tries that I would never admit happened.

Usually, I’m not much of a cook. Frequent miscalculations and daydreaming led to many thoroughly burned meals on my end, resulting in take-out on the days that Karkat wasn’t cooking. He’s a good cook – much better than I am. It comes a bit more naturally to him, and he makes a _mean_ pasta.

But, besides the fact I can’t cook for my life, I started cooking at an ungodly hour in the morning – compared to our usual Sunday alarm at eleven – because it’s our anniversary, today, and if there’s anything I learned from Karkat’s romantic comedies and SNL sketches, there’s nothing better than an awesome breakfast in bed. Or, well, in this case, breakfast-out-of-bed, because of the sheer amount of food I’m making.

You see, our usual breakfast is Karkat with a bowl of cereal and me with a pop-tart or two. So, once I got the idea in my head to make him breakfast in bed, I sort of went a bit overboard, hence the ‘bed’ part being lost in translation from my fucked-over, Striderian thought pattern.

I rub the back of my neck, glancing at the kitchen table, which is getting full. It’s just the eggs left, now, really. I put the toast on a plate, sliding it into one of the few free spots on the crumpled table-cloth. The display is really something, despite not everything looking terribly pretty. Stacks of pancakes and waffles stand tall in the middle of the setup, surrounded by bacon, sausages, baked beans, tater-tots right out of the box, bowls of fruit, cinnamon rolls, and muffins. Oh, plus the plate of toast for the eggs, which I need to start. On my way from the table to the stove, I stop at the fridge, pulling out the syrup, butter, and such. I put them on the counter, going to start on the eggs.

The eggs are a lot harder than I thought they’d be, and I find my eyes darting to the clock on the wall more and more often; it’s getting closer and closer to eleven. Karkat will be up soon – I’m running out of time, and out of eggs. I run my hands down my face, taking a deep breath.

“Only two more left, you gotta do this,” I mutter to myself, cracking the eggs over the pan.

Unfortunately, they are another casualty – they end up half burnt, half raw, and go into the garbage.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I murmur. Now we won’t have eggs at all. What kind of breakfast doesn’t have eggs? I could make all that other shit – well, kinda – and I couldn’t make fucking eggs. I glance at the door. It’s 10:48. There’s no way that’s enough time to go out and buy more eggs. I debate internally for a moment, before deciding to text the neighboring apartment to ask if they have eggs.

Just as I’m about to send the message, I hear the creak of the bedroom door opening. Oh, fuck. Guess that’s it for the eggs.

“Dave, why the fuck weren’t you in bed?” Karkat is rubbing his eyes and standing in the doorway, and my heart swells in my chest. He’s wearing one of my shirts, an older one covered in paint stains. On his bottom half are only boxers. He stretches, finally focusing his eyes on the kitchen table. They dart back over to me, his eyebrows raising, and I give a nervous, goofy smile.

“What the fuck is all this?” he laughs, smiling at me, and my heart leaps up into my throat. I’m so fucking in love with him.

“It’s, uh, breakfast,” I reply, my lip catching on my teeth as I rub the back of my neck, “Happy Anniversary, is what I mean. Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” Karkat trudges over, his eyes on the table as he makes his way over to me, “H – Happy Anniversary. How early did you get up to make all this?”

“Like, six,” I shrug, “I usually wake up around then, anyway.”

Karkat wraps his arms around my shoulders, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. He shoves his head into my shoulder, hugging me tightly. He smells of sleep. I return the embrace, smiling into his hair.

“You’re such a fucking sap,” He murmurs.

“But I’m _your_ sap,” I reply.

“Hell yeah,” is his instant response. His arms twitch, like he’s trying to pull me impossibly closer, and I take a deep breath. He’s so warm – he makes me feel so warm. He makes me feel a kind of heat that builds in my chest, and spreads to the rest of me. The kind of love you don’t just feel in your heart, but in your _everywhere._ A feeling I wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Babe, as much I love just fucking cuddlin’ it out in the middle of our kitchen, this shit is gonna get cold _real_ fast.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Karkat pulls away, looking at the food. When he does, I lay my head against his chest.

“How the hell are we going to eat all that?” even though I can’t see him, I know he’s raising an eyebrow at me. More love swells in my chest at the thought of just _knowing_ his expressions like that.

“I didn’t really think that far,” I shrug, standing up straight and stretching as he pulls his arms away from me, putting his hands on his hips.

“Great,” he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling so wide, and it’s beautiful.

“Also, there’s no eggs. I fucked up _all_ of our eggs.”

“That was a whole carton, how did you – you know what? I’m not even going to ask. We’re going to leave that one there.”

I let out a laugh, breathy and brief – but sincere nonetheless. He makes himself comfortable at the table, helping himself to some of the food, and I lean against the counter, smiling at him. He’s everything I could’ve ever dreamed for – heaven on earth. He looks over at me.

“What the fuck are you looking at, jackass? I thought you were going to eat some of this, too.”

“I love you,” is my only response, as I sigh at the light, airy feeling growing in my stomach.

He puts down his fork, angling his head down as he glances at me and smiles in a sort of bashful way. He’s adorable, and he’s mine, and I wouldn’t have my life any other way.

“I love you, too,” he says, voice full of all the sweetness in the world.

There’s something _really_ magical about mornings, I think. And it’s that we share them together.


End file.
